Oh, My Beautiful One
by Peachy Lime Daiquiri
Summary: Inspired by the songmusic video “Silver and Cold” by AFI. Multiple interpretations. Oneshot.


Did you see the genre? Tragedy/Angst. This is not a happy fic. Not by a long shot.

It's also very ambiguous. There's three sections, and they're somewhat out of order. The first section is a phone conversation that occurs within the second section, and the third section begins in the second section and continues to the end.

It's inspired by the song/music video "Silver and Cold" by AFI. It pretty much follows the music video's storyline (one of the reasons for the ambiguity). Oh, and I used two lines from the song in the fic. A big Hershey's kiss to whoever finds them, because chocolate is comfort food and all that jazz.

I'm not sure if it's winter in the music video, but I made it winter in the fic because I wrote the entire thing while freezing my fingers off in a garage during winter. I wasn't at my house, you see. At my mom's boyfriend's house, his other computer is in his garage (my sister commandeered the other one for college apps). So the whole cold element worked really well for this.

This fic is strictly INTERPRET AS YOU WILL. I deliberately wrote the second section from Ray's point of view because Ray knows the least about the background story. If you think everyone died, then everyone died. If you think no one died, then no one died. It's all up to you.

DISCLAIMER: "There's less violence in the world when people are using Hula-Hoops."

……………

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

"Hey. Where are you? We're waiting for you."

"Roberto's miserable, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he's freezing his butt off. How come you called?"

A deep breath. "I…I don't think I'm gonna make it there."

"Why? Did something happen? Are you okay? Where are you?"

"Calm down, I'm fine. I'm in the phone booth by the bridge. I just needed some time to myself to think about things. Clear my head, you know?"

"So you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. I'm…" A pause. "I'm better than I've been for a while now."

"Really? That's good. We've missed you, man."

"I'm gonna miss you, too."

"Yeah…wait, what?"

"Everything makes sense now. I can't stay here anymore."

"You're…you're leaving? Without saying goodbye?"

"This _is_ goodbye. Trust me, it's for the best."

Silence.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure to keep an eye on you."

"Oh? And how do you plan on doing that?"

"I'll find out when I get there."

"Where are you going?"

"Somewhere you're not going to follow."

"Fat chance. I'll find you."

"No. You won't."

"Yes, I will."

"Promise me you won't."

"What?"

"Promise me you won't follow."

"Why should I?"

"I only ask you turn away." Each word spoken slowly and deliberately.

"What? No, you're not…? You're not doing what I think you're doing, are you?"

A whisper, so soft it's almost unintelligible.

"Don't do this. Just…just let us talk this over first." A muffled yell to an outside listener. "Hang on, we're coming." The scraping of chairs, the scuffling of shoes. A thud from the plastic telephone hitting wood. The faint, cheerful tinkle of a bell as a door opens.

Silence.

………

Ray walked into the coffeehouse, shaking off the cold of the crisp winter air. Sam and Roberto were already seated at a table, and waved him over.

"So…what's up?" Ray asked Sam as he slid into the seat across from Roberto. "What'd you wanna talk about out here?"

Sam shrugged and looked down into his tea. "Come on, man," Ray said, rolling his eyes. "You wouldn't drag us out into the freezing cold just to talk about _nothing_. We could've done that back home."

"It's Bobby," Sam mumbled to the table. "He's been acting weird lately."

"Yeah, he's been pretty down," Roberto said.

Ray thought about it. It was winter, the time of year when people tended to curl into little balls and keep to themselves and try not to freeze. Except…Bobby never did that. He stayed the same hyper year-round, occupying winter by instigating mutant snowball fights and roasting s'mores over the fireplace.

Ray realized Bobby hadn't done any of that this winter.

"He seems…" Roberto shrugged. "Out of it, or something."

"Depressed?" Ray supplied. It sounded foreign in his mouth. Bobby, depressed. That never happened. "Anyone know why?"

Roberto shrugged. "We're waiting for him to show up so we can talk about it."

"I thought he wouldn't want to talk back at home," Sam said apologetically. "Too many people."

"Call for a Mr. Guthrie?" the barista called out, holding the store's phone. "A Mr. Sam Guthrie?" Sam glanced quizzically at Ray and Roberto as he got up to take the phone.

Roberto dropped a sugar cube into his coffee. Ray watched as it splashed across the saucer and onto the table. "I think Sam knows what's eating Bobby," Roberto said as he stirred his coffee. "He wants to talk to Bobby in private."

Ray glanced around the coffeehouse softly buzzing with chatter, and nodded. There was no such thing as privacy back at home. "Then why'd he ask us to come?"

Roberto sipped his coffee. "So Bobby'll talk to him. If there's something up with Bobby that's bad enough to make him how he is now, he's not going to talk to Sam about it alone. One of us, maybe, but not Sam." He held out the coffee. "Want some?"

Ray drank some of the coffee and gave it back, letting Roberto curl his hands around it for warmth. "Does Sam have something to do with it?" Ray asked.

They glanced over at Sam. He was listening to the phone with his mouth slightly open, brows knit in confusion. "Sam has everything to do with it," Roberto said.

"It's Bobby!"

Ray and Roberto turned at Sam's outburst to see him gripping the receiver so hard they half-expected the plastic to crack. "He's gonna jump!"

Ray's mind was still processing what "he's gonna jump" could possibly mean when he tore out of his seat and raced for the door, Roberto a few steps behind them. He dimly heard Sam shout something into the phone before dropping it and running after them, and met Roberto's glance as he yanked the door open: they both know it meant something _bad_.

"The bridge!" Sam shouted, already hurtling down the street.

A wordless roar echoed in Ray and Roberto's ears as they tore after him. Their brains finally understood what their bodies knew all along.

It meant something much, much worse than _bad_.

Ray's mind raced. The bridge. Sam was talking on the phone. Bobby had left his cell phone in their room this morning. That meant a payphone. The bridge they were running to was right near a phone booth. Bobby only had to walk to the bridge from the phone booth. They'd never catch him in time…

"Car!" Roberto gasped out as he spun around on the sidewalk and dashed for an idling car. Apparently, he'd been thinking the same thing. Ray didn't think as he opened the passenger door and jumped in, didn't think as Sam threw himself in the backseat, didn't think as Roberto shoved the owner of the car returning from purchasing a newspaper aside and leaped into the driver's seat, didn't think as they sped down the street and his mouth automatically rapped out directions. He knew Sam and Roberto were in the same condition. Their minds were at a complete blank, lost in sheer white panic.

"Go faster!" Sam all but shrieked into Roberto's ear, his waving hand nearly taking Ray's eye out. Ray didn't have to look down to know Roberto's foot had been pressing into the floor before he'd even had the door shut. Roberto didn't answer, just changed gears as he whipped onto the road leading to the bridge, driving directly on top of the solid yellow lines.

"There he is!" Sam yelled, pointing at the solitary figure standing on the outside of the bridge. He's not wearing his jacket, Ray's mind thought haphazardly.

Sam fell silent as they approached the figure. He hadn't seen them, and was staring down into the water as if transfixed.

The roar in Ray's ears suddenly grew louder. It wasn't so wordless anymore. It sounded like…

Like a _truck_…

Ray's eyes refocused on the truck headed straight for them the same time Sam's and Roberto's did.

………

He slowly hangs up the receiver and leaves the phone booth. He buries his hands in his jacket pockets as he walks, imagining he feels the cold.

He doesn't.

Before he knows it, he's standing on the outside of the bridge, staring out into the water. It's dark and green and captivating, lapping softly at the foundations of the bridge. It's calm, peaceful, unbroken, twinkling softly in the weak sun.

He wants that calm, that peace, that unbrokenness.

He slowly unbuttons his jacket, folding it neatly and placing it down next to him. He pretends the crisp air bites into his bare arms.

It doesn't.

He loosens his metal watch, slides it over his wrist, and drops it, watching it break the water's surface.

His wrist burns, and he tries to convince himself it's because of the absence of frozen metal on his skin.

It has absolutely nothing to do with who gave him the watch.

He slowly pulls a silver ring off his finger, imagining it's the chill of the cold metal he feels leaving his skin rather than the sentiments behind it. The splash it makes is so small, and the water calms too quickly.

He runs his hands through his short brown hair, thinking about the cold that awaits him.

He wants to feel it.

The next splash, the largest break in the water, calms even faster than the ring's did.

He stares at the white foam subsiding back to green, feeling completely at peace for the first time.

He doesn't move a muscle from his spot on the bridge.

Not when he hears the squealing of tires on the road.

Not when the wind from a passing truck slaps across his face.

Not when he hears a deafening crash and the crunching of metal.

Not when the light from a fireball illuminates the side of his head.

He finally turns and steps back onto the pavement as people run toward the crash. He picks up his jacket and slowly walks away, slowly puts it back on.

The cold can never hurt him now.

He fancies he feels a tingle in his newly-clothed arm as a woman brushes it on her way to the crash.

He doesn't.

He pretends his shaking has everything to do with the cold and nothing to do with what just happened.

It doesn't.

He will never feel anything again.

He whispers, so softly it's almost unintelligible.

"Oh, my beautiful one."

……………

Interpret as you will. Reviews are greatly appreciated.


End file.
